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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690272">you cut through all the noise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyrollins/pseuds/prettyboyrollins'>prettyboyrollins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Black Suits - Iconis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acts of Kindness, Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slice of Life, Taco Bell, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyrollins/pseuds/prettyboyrollins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is no stranger to having bad days, and John is no stranger to dealing with Chris' bad days.</p><p>[A slice of life long after college ends.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Thurser/John Amoroso</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you cut through all the noise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/selkiemaiden/gifts">selkiemaiden</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the black suits live rent free in my head. i've written essays about chris thurser and i relate so strongly to him as a character. i have a black suits tattoo. it was only a matter of time before i wrote this.</p><p>title taken from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCKbw9OJIcg">ease my mind by ben platt</a> - the music video is just john and chris, and the lyrics are so john and chris i cried the first time i heard it.</p><p>this is unbeta'd, and if you're curious, i picture ben platt thurser and jason tam john. enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>John Amoroso had been an asshole as long as Chris Thurser had known him. He was a motherfucker who burned shit for fun and didn’t give a fuck about anyone around him except for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was also Chris’ best friend, and the one person who was willing to put up with all of Chris’ bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d grown up since high school and The Lisa Thing and the St. Anne’s Battle of the Bands; Brandon was off at Berklee in Boston, finishing up his final year, and Nato was off in a jungle somewhere as he started working on his master’s. They kept in touch, but the band fizzled out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt, not that Chris would ever admit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris and John, though, stayed together, and had moved to Queens the moment Chris graduated from the community college - they were over Garden City, and Garden City was over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between shifts at their shitty jobs - a grocery store for John and a fancy restaurant for Chris - they took whatever gigs they could find as a two person unit. Chris brushed up on piano, and John bought a beat up old acoustic guitar. They learned as many songs as they could, taking every bar mitzvah and small wedding they could find. It kept the lights on and kept them fed, but it was exhausting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least they were talking and they fought a lot less. It was a small consolation, but Chris was glad that they had that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Chris’ first day off in sixteen days, and all he wanted to do was scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like he was back in high school, back in the garage when rehearsal was terrible and Brandon kept messing up and John was late and then hated everything they played and then Lisa—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew himself well enough to know he was fucked from the moment he opened his eyes. He laid in bed as long as possible, even as John made a racket in the kitchen and sang loudly in the shower and poked his head in before he left for work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made waffles. They’re in the fridge. See ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after the front door slammed shut - John was so fucking noisy all the time, he sucked - Chris made no effort to move. It felt like the whole universe was weighing him down, like it was parked right in the center of his chest, and it was making it hard to breathe or think without spiraling.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breathe, smile.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Waffles were nice - especially the ones John made. He was some weird savant when it came to making kickass breakfast foods, so it always felt special when he poked his head in to tell Chris there were pancakes or waffles or French toast if he was lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing special about today. Those were suspicious waffles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still got up and grabbed them from the fridge anyway - suspicious waffles were still <em>good</em> waffles - even as his body continued to get more and more tense as time passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris had developed a checklist with the social worker back in high school - a short list of things he could do when he felt like he was going to explode or be crushed beneath an invisible weight. They were supposed to help him on days like this, breaking through the bullshit fog in his brain to make him feel normal again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ate a decent breakfast: John's homemade waffles and a glass of juice. It didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drank a few glasses of water. It didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a long, hot shower and washed his hair. It didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He played the song he’d been writing and belted out what lyrics he was firm on. It didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself, curled up in the corner of their beat up couch in silence. He’d put headphones on to try and block out the sound of their upstairs neighbor plodding around, but he’d kept music off - that would be too much. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this is the day I finally fucking break and John realizes I’m crazy and—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door creaking open broke through his doom spiral, and he looked up at John, who looked exhausted and a little sweaty. His brow furrowed and he pulled his headphones off, but before he could ask, John held up a plastic bag. “I got us Taco Bell for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris nodded. “Cool,” he said, voice unusually flat, but that didn’t seem to faze John; he smiled and tossed the bag on the coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and John had gone to Taco Bell together daily in high school, so he shouldn’t have been surprised that John knew his top few orders. That didn’t stop him from being shocked and a little touched as he pulled out all of his favorites, the comfort food that had gotten him through his mom’s divorce and the bullshit with his dad and… everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stayed in bed late,” John said softly as he vaulted over the back of the couch and plopped down next to him. “You, like, never do. You usually yell at me to shut the fuck up. So I figured you could use something to, like…. cheer you up. Distract you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris couldn’t look at John; he stared at his burrito silently and tried his hardest not to cry. John just pressed his thigh against Chris’, a grounding point of contact that meant just as much as the Taco Bell in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I figured, if that didn’t work…” John reached into his pocket and fumbled around, and Chris watched him pull out a bag and smiled. “We can smoke about it and just chill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slightest smile tugged on Chris’ lips, and John noticed and beamed like it was a victory. In a way, it sort of was, but Chris wouldn’t say it. He just busied himself with taking another bite of his burrito and leaning a little harder into John’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John kissed his hair once, gently, and laughed. “I’m guessing that’s a yes to that idea. C’mon. Eat, man. I got us so much Taco Bell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yeah, maybe John Amoroso had been an asshole from day one, and he probably always would be. But he also cared in ways that people didn’t see - he knew Chris better than anyone else, even without Chris saying a word. So even with all of the shit John put him through, Chris wouldn’t trade him for the fucking world.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>leave a comment or a kudo for your writer and be excellent to each other. i'll definitely be writing for the black suits again someday.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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